Impossible
by Allyson
Summary: Like Clara was the Doctor's impossible girl, Sherlock was John's impossible friend.


_Sherlock_ – The Impossible Moment

By Allyson

(A/N – I do not own anything of _Sherlock_ and I have only temporary borrowed lines from _Dr Who_)

The room was dark, the curtains half-heartedly pulled shut. Rain patted lightly against the window panes. The glow of the television screen was muted against the flickering bulb in the kitchen. The only sounds in the room came from the _Dr Who_ episode showing on the small screen and the lonely breathing of Dr John Watson from where he lay on the sofa. Watching TV had become a coping mechanism on the nights when the flat seemed too quiet and too empty. Noise helped. It was an added bonus if the programme could distract his spiraling thoughts. _Dr Who_ had been a favourite of John's since he was little. He'd even managed to keep Sherlock from predicting the plot lines so that he could still enjoy it when the consulting detective was bored. A small sad smile crept over John's features as he slowly lost track of the episode.

"_You are the only mystery worth solving."_

Unbidden, the memory of that fateful day at St Bart's wiped the smile off the doctor's face. Why had Sherlock jumped? It still hurt to think of his flat mate's last words to him. John's life was now revolving around an endless well of 'what ifs.' What if he'd stayed with Sherlock at the lab? Would Sherlock have reconsidered? What if it had been John's fault? Was there something he could have done or said to change his friend's mind? What if Sherlock had lost trust in John? What if the whole thing wasn't real and Sherlock wasn't dead? Wouldn't that mean he'd lied to John and caused him pain on purpose?

John shook his head to clear his thoughts. It wasn't helping. He believed in Sherlock and always would do. He jumped for a reason; Sherlock always had a reason.

"_Run you clever boy . . . and remember me."_

He focused back on the TV set and watched as the Doctor risked his life to save his companion, Clara. Memories of running after Sherlock on the trail of a suspect, getting into scrapes, shock blankets and arguments between the lanky young upstart and Detective Lestrade flashed through John's head causing a lump to form in his throat. He missed him. Suddenly the room seemed twice as dark and a thousand times lonelier. John wanted to hear Sherlock clattering around the kitchen, muttering deductions and insults to everyone. Hell, he'd even welcome finding disembodied body parts in the fridge if it meant he could see his best friend again.

John sighed. This episode was not helping his depressive mood but he couldn't find the energy to move and turn it off. A wishful childish hope whispered in John's ear that if the Doctor and Clara could find and save one another, then so could John. Sherlock would still be alive, John would find him and everything would return back to normal. If Sherlock had been there he would have looked at John in disdain if he knew what he was thinking. He could practically hear Sherlock dismissively stating, 'Really, John? You're not a child. I expected more of you.'

John allowed himself a small smirk before determinedly shutting off his thoughts and watching the action on screen. The Doctor had found Clara.

"_You can do it, I know you can."  
"How?"_

"_Because it's impossible and you're my impossible girl. How many times have you saved me, Clara? Just this once, just for the hell of it, let me save you! You have to trust me, Clara, I'm real. Just one more step. Clara! My Clara."_

As the Doctor swept Clara into a hug, John cleared his throat and dragged both hands over his face. This wasn't helping. Like Clara was the Doctor's impossible girl, Sherlock was John's impossible friend. The only difference being the Doctor had saved Clara while John was still floundering. A sound behind him made John freeze. Was that the flat door opening? He frowned. Mrs. Hudson was away for the weekend and no-one else had a key but . . .

Turning and half-sitting up on the sofa, John's jaw dropped open in shock.

"Hello, John," came a familiar baritone voice that had been missing from the flat in three years.

Sherlock stood in the shadowed doorway.

"Impossible."

The End


End file.
